


At Least Friends

by UnnamedElement (Unnamed_Element)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Multi, Neither Gen nor Slash shall get their resolution, Platonic Life Partners, Romantic Friendship, Romantic life partners, Seriously - the entire point of this is to confound and confuse you, There are a lot of minor characters in this, You Have Been Warned, cw: GIF in story note, or wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29826351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unnamed_Element/pseuds/UnnamedElement
Summary: A collection of interconnected vignettes—spanning over one hundred twenty years—in which Legolas and Gimli’s friends and family try to figure out whatexactlyElf and Dwarf are to one another (to, of course, absolutely no avail).
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli-Legolas, Miscellaneous canon - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: The Two Thousand Fics on AO3 Gigolas Challenge





	At Least Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roselightfairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Roselightfairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy) in the [2000GigolasFics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2000GigolasFics) collection. 



> This story came out of some conversations with Roselightfairy, and she later directed me to this prompt she had written up in a Gigolas community: "Outsider POV, hovering on the boundary of gen. Legolas and Gimli have the kind of close, committed friendship that leaves everyone around them wondering whether or not they are romantically involved - and no one can get a clear answer, and no one can figure it out for themselves, no matter how much they speculate. / I'm imagining this relationship as basically imitating the tender closeness and commitment of the books, but with the added layer of romantic intrigue. Bonus points if the reader also never finds out - frustrate me as much as you can, I dare you!"
> 
> Two months and much brainstorming later, here we are. If you wish to indulge me while I further contextualize all this (and no one has ever accused me of being succinct, so apologies in advance), please see the end note.
> 
> **Title from the following excerpt ("Journey in the Dark"):**
> 
> _"Well, here we are at last!" said Gandalf. "Here the Elven-way from Hollin ended. Holly was the token of the people of that land, and they planted it here to mark the end of their domain; for the West-door was made chiefly for their use in their traffic with the Lords of Moria. Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship at times between folk of different race, even between Dwarves and Elves."_
> 
> _"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli._
> 
> _"I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," said Legolas._
> 
> _"I have heard both," said Gandalf; "and I will not give judgement now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both."_
> 
> _  
> **No beta; all mistakes are mine.**  
>  _  
> 

* * *

_Where and what are Helm's Deep and all the rest of it? I don't know anything about this country.'_

_'Then you'd best learn something, if you wish to understand what is happening. But not just now, and not from me: I have too many pressing things to think about.'_

_'All right, I'll tackle Strider by the camp-fire: he's less testy._

_—The Two Towers, 1:11, The Palantir_

* * *

**Third Age 3019, March 5  
Camp at Dol Baran, near Isengard**

Merry ducked beneath a spiny branch of the sprawling hawthorn, Pippin tripping at his heels. In the hollow at the base of the old tree a campfire burned steadily, and a few men milled about it, but not he whom Merry sought. Gandalf had refused to answer his questions about Rohan and what precisely was going on, and had pawned him off onto Strider instead. But Strider was not where Merry had expected him to be, and now Pippin was bobbing anxiously beside him, veritably thrumming with curiosity.

“Merry! Where is he then? And what are all these men doing putting about here; it’s not as if there’s proper food to be had.”

“I expect the same thing we are,” he said vaguely, scanning the shadowy faces of the Rohirrim as he spoke. “Looking for friends, keeping warm, the like... Maybe, if we find—”

But Pippin was shouldering past him then, running full tilt to the very edge of the firelight where, Merry finally saw, were those he thought to _next_ inquire after. The firelight played at the crowns of elf and dwarf as Pippin settled immediately near them, but they were so far away from the campfire that the branches of the hawthorn seemed to cradle and scratch at the elf’s back as he bent forward, squinting at something.

The _something_ he was squinting at became apparent as Merry neared at a slightly more dignified pace than his cousin, for the something was, in fact, _Gimli_. Pippin was already chattering by the time Merry crossed the space to them. He watched intently as Legolas chatted quietly with Pippin, hands busy with some task at Gimli’s hairline as Gimli worked at something in his own lap (though Merry couldn’t _quite_ see what, for the dwarf was hunched and facing slightly away from him).

“Hullo!” he finally said, and he sat down beside Gimli and looked up into Legolas’ fair face, scrunched as it was in concentration. 

The elf smiled, and glanced away momentarily from his work in Gimli’s hair. “Hello, Merry! It is good to see you both again. It has been a strange day, I think.”

“No stranger than any other time we’ve spent with Gandalf, _I_ think,” Pippin said, laughing. “Though I’m tired of not understanding. That’s what Merry and I came to the fire for, to seek out Strider for some answers!”

“You did not have answers enough after our conversation today, in the ruins of Isengard?” Legolas asked, smiling at Pippin indulgently before turning his attention back to Gimli. He dipped a small rag Merry had not noticed in a cup of water at his hip, and then set back to his task at Gimli's hairline. “Aragorn _did_ go on, I thought.”

“Legolas,” Gimli reprimanded quietly, and Merry moved slightly closer to see what he worked at. 

The dwarf’s hands moved steadily, thick fingers grasping a small needle as he whipstitched around the edges of a tear in the fabric in his lap. Merry glanced toward Legolas again to notice he was clad in only his thin undershirt, for his tunic was folded beside him and his jacket—torn and tattered and under repair—was clutched in Gimli’s busy hands.

“Oh, I do not mean to speak ill of him!” Legolas insisted, and he threw Pippin yet another smile as he spoke. “He just has a way of talking that impedes—”

Gimli interrupted him immediately. “Are you sure it was not _you_ who took a blow to the head, Master Legolas? For you are full of unasked-for glib tonight.”

Legolas shrugged and, this time, when the elf pulled his hands away from the dwarf's hairline, Merry noticed that the rag was streaked with old blood; dried flakes had painted the cloth brown and rusty as he cleaned. The elf leaned back in to part Gimli’s hair further and dab at a spot one final time, before he dropped the rag to the rocky ground beside them and ran a hand through Gimli’s hair so it was arranged properly again.

“Finished!” he announced, and he wiped his hands on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands, so he nearly looked up at Merry instead of the other way around. “You shall live another day, I think, Friend Gimli.”

“Another day to endure your mothering,” the dwarf responded wryly, but then he was chuckling and reassuring as he registered the guilelessly shocked expression on Legolas’ face. “I am only joking, Legolas!” 

Merry looked on with vague amusement as Gimli patted Legolas’ knee and tied off the thread. He held up the jacket for a final inspection before pressing it into the elf’s waiting hands.

“Thank you, Gimli,” he said quietly, and he slipped the jacket on before taking the needle and thread from Gimli’s fingers and picking up his tunic to repair it himself. He looked up at the staring hobbits with raised eyebrows. “I do not suggest you take off your mail in the midst of battle, no matter _how_ much it irks you. I was lucky Gimli was at my back when this blow came.”

“Luckier would I have been to have had you at _mine_ in the Deep.”

“Master Gimli, it is but an ‘orc scratch,’ as you say. You ever hold yourself well, and your count surpasses—”

“You _never_ understand what I mean—”

“That is _at least_ the second time I have gotten such a lecture from you today!” Legolas interrupted, and then he was bursting into quiet laughter, and Gimli sighed and tugged back the tunic. Legolas yielded and leaned back on splayed hands as Gimli put needle to shirt again, utterly ignoring him. 

The elf turned his attention back to the hobbits, then, with a disturbingly elven intensity, and Merry cleared his throat as Pippin stared at the pair with open fascination.

Pippin was absolutely _vibrating_ with uncontrollable interest—and Merry realized immediately that his cousin was in _utterly_ rare form—so he stepped in before he had a chance to derail his mission. There were still questions to be asked, after all, to gather the information he had _originally_ hoped in seeking out their companions in the first place.

“Well, since we cannot find Aragorn, and we meant to ask _him_ ,” Merry said, cutting eyes at Pippin admonishingly as his cousin scooted closer to Legolas with unbridled interest. “What do you two know about Rohan, and Helm’s Deep?”

“Oh!” Legolas replied immediately, looking interested himself. “Absolutely _nothing_ , in truth, beyond what I have learned since arriving...”

Gimli chuckled and Legolas ignored him, beckoning Pippin closer as the hobbit struggled to control his desire to be as near to them as physically possible.

Pippin scooted. He propped an elbow on Legolas' knee and peered up at him. “But Mirkwood is in Wilderland. It is not far from here.”

Legolas tilted his head and blinked. "Pardon?"

“Mirkwood is in _Wilderland_ ,” Pippin repeated. "Same as Rohan."

“I—" Legolas glanced at Gimli imploringly. "It is in—?”

“ _Rhovanion_ , Legolas,” the dwarf supplied quietly, and he did not even look up from the hole he patched in the tunic. "Rhovanion _is_ Wilderland."

“Oh!” the elf exclaimed as comprehension dawned, and he turned to Pippin with a true smile. “Well, it is not far on a _map_ , perhaps, but I am from the distant North. There is much danger between there and here—" He waved a hand absently behind them. "And, thus, little reason to stray Southwards. Gimli knows more than I, I think.”

Pippin’s eyes widened at that admission of less knowledge than the dwarf, and his mouth popped open like a fish out of water as if he were prepared to comment, but Merry tugged him away so he tumbled on his rear beside him, instead of perched on the elf like some strange bird.

But, Merry reminded himself, Pippin was in rare form tonight and so he ought—

“You are _much_ friendlier to one another than you were when we parted at Amon Hen,” Pippin said then with a direct and false neutrality, and Merry could have smacked him for his tactlessness.

But Legolas and Gimli only looked up at that, and then they answered simultaneously: “I have decided I like him well enough,” said Legolas, as Gimli uttered, “Well, he _is_ useful to me." Both elf and dwarf shrugged, then, and Gimli went back to his task without further comment.

Merry elbowed Pippin roughly in the ribs and, though Legolas did not look _directly_ at the hobbits, a smile quirked his lips as his eyes focused on something over their shoulders and far away.

Eventually, Gimli finished the hole in Legolas’ tunic and tossed it back to him, and then the elf was relayering himself and fastening buttons with fast and slender fingers, from waist to neck.

“So,” Gimli said then, and he turned partway until he and Legolas were leant back similarly—one compact and lithe, the other stout and strong—surveying the hobbits with their own curiosity. “What do you wish to know of Rohan? I will do my best to tell you.”

Merry dropped his own chin into his hands as they listened to Gimli speak—for he had learned _much_ more than Legolas in their short time in Rohan, for some reason or another—and time passed, and night went on. 

**.o.**

After an hour, they were some of only a dozen yet awake around the fire, and, so, they separated, presumably to sleep. Legolas and Gimli bedded down on their cloaks where they sat, laid flat and watching the stars. Pippin could hear Legolas’ soft voice as he walked away with Merry: _You never finished telling me about your mother, Gimli. Should you like to now?_ But then he and his cousin were removed and part-way up the hill, and he could not hear them anymore. They were on softer ground then—the bizarre and newfound intensity of elf and dwarf far behind—and they settled on a dry bed of bracken in a small corner of crags, where they curled amidst spring fronds and slowly awakening ferns.

The hobbits, for a while, were silent, but Pippin’s mind whirred. He picked detritus from his curls, and then he smoothed his cloak about him; he tucked his feet up tight so they were warm, and then he scratched at his nose.

A minute more passed before he felt he would surely burst, and so he turned with a huff to face his cousin. Merry turned his head toward him and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“We were gone only for, what,” Pippin inquired quietly, “ten days?”

“Yes, though I would argue it felt _much_ longer, what with orcs and the Entmoot and all.”

“Yes, like _years_!” Pippin agreed emphatically. 

Merry watched him flatly, and a few moments passed before Pippin spoke again:

“Do you think it must have felt like it, for them, too?”

“What?" Merry asked. "Felt like what for whom?”

“For Legolas and Gimli, fool! Do you think it felt like years for them, too, these past days?” Pippin scratched his nose again. “They are...different.”

Merry rolled onto his side, then, and Pippin watched as he readjusted his hood to protect his ears from the scratchy fern. 

“They _are_ different,” Merry agreed vaguely, and Pippin studied his cousin—he who always seemed to know the answers to every little thing—as he considered it seriously. “They are like _us_ now, but they have not known each other their whole lives. It is…” 

He trailed off momentarily, and Pippin tucked his hand up tight beneath his chin and waited. 

“So, yes, I suppose,” Merry finally acknowledged. “For them, I think—for them it has seemed like years, too." A moment of silence. "It must have.”

And then Merry turned away from him without another word, and he tried to sleep, but Pippin was not tired, and he rolled onto his back to watch the dark sky. He still had so much to learn and he knew _so little_ , and they had _not_ found Strider, and _Gandalf_ had ignored them, and then Gimli had answered only the _basest_ of questions about the Rohirrim and their culture and their history and—

And he knew _nothing_ of that Stone they had found that Gandalf now kept hidden! Legolas had seemed uncomfortable when talk turned there, and when a shadow of worry passed over his face, Gimli hurried the conversation along despite Pippin's own protests.

It was then, from below, that Legolas' voice rose for a while in quiet song—barely louder than the nascent notes of spring about them—and that stilled Pippin’s mind for a long time. But, eventually, that too petered out, and he was, again, well and truly awake. 

Yes, it had felt like years since the river, but he had not grown any wiser in that time, and he had _no answers at all._

Pippin tossed and turned and his brain was busy with questions about the quest, and the Stone; of ents, and of elves and dwarves, and of Frodo and Sam—

Eventually, Merry sighed and turned back to him dramatically, for he had readjusted, that time, with perhaps _too_ much enthusiasm...

“Pip, what's the matter, hm?" his cousin asked. "Are you lying on an ant-hill?”*

Pippin shook his head, but launched immediately into conversation with his cousin. 

The decision he would make once Merry had fallen asleep again would be one that prevented him from wondering about _anything_ —let alone the odd friendship between Elf and Dwarf—for a very _very_ long time. 

**.o.**

Later that night when Gandalf bundled him up onto Shadowfax—as he felt tears come to his eyes at this _very first_ separation from Merry in his _entire_ short life—he turned in a blur to take in those he left behind.

Legolas stood tall and silent beside Gimli, and Aragorn stood before them, both hands gripping Merry's shoulders kindly.

As he watched, Legolas dropped a hand to Gimli's shoulder, and the dwarf raised a hand in farewell.

Pippin tried to smile for his friends, but then the wind had whipped his cloak so it wrapped about his face and—by the time he cleared it—they seemed far away, and gone. Even his hobbit-eyes could not find them.

Soon they would be in Gondor, and Rohan would be far behind, and his lack of knowledge, he hoped, would be of no more consequence at all...

He huddled against Gandalf as Shadowfax picked up speed, and he watched the wide world pass him by. 

**Author's Note:**

> * Indicates that this line is copied nearly verbatim from Ch 11 of The Two Towers
> 
> **Contextualization and blathering:**
> 
> Roselight and I initially bonded on Tumblr over our love of Legolas & Gimli's dynamics and our appreciation for multitude, diverse interpretations of wood-elf culture. The funny thing is, is that we have pretty different positions on Legolas and Gimli's relationship, and what exactly it is, though we appreciate all embodiments of them. Historically, I have written L & G as purely platonic life partners (a la WWI trench/general military friendships and classic romantic friendships, reflective of the tenderness and absolute commitment they exude in the books), but I will admit that I write it in such a way that many readers over the years have asked what _exactly_ is between the lines. (Which I don't generally answer directly, because I think reader interpretation is a-okay.)
> 
> That being said, I imprinted on Legolas and Gimli, platonically, as a child, and then, as an adult, their relationship became even more important to me when I started working in crisis and trauma settings--the bonds you make with people in trauma-exposed workplaces can be so all-encompassing, inexplicable, and intense, and that made L & G's friendship resonate with me even more, and yet... There is something immeasurably _different_ in the intensity of my friendship with my best friend from my Kid Crime days from those I have with _anyone_ else in my life--there is something there that even my _fiancee_ will never reach, because she did not live and see what we did, did not deal with shared stress and trauma with only one another to lean on, as we did. 
> 
> And, so, I think it is fair to admit that my L & G may be more in between than I once acknowledged, because our modern conceptions of friendship and relationships are insufficient to capture whatever it is I think they are. 
> 
> _All that being said,_ this piece is written specifically to dance along that line between Gen and Slash, to taunt Gen readers and Slash readers alike, because it is fun and entertaining and endlessly sweet. Take this piece however you wish. (That _is_ , in fact, the point.) In the end, all of us who love Legolas and Gimli love them because of who they are and what they represent-- _how that love manifests isn't what is important._
> 
> But it sure does make for a good time. ;) I hope you enjoy this diversion!


End file.
